


The Conquest of the Willing

by cloverfield



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Discussion of war, M/M, Metaphors From The Middle Ages, NSFW Meme, Orgasm Delay/Denial, References to Fratricide, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Terrible Puns About Weaponry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: “What would you have of me?” The softness of the words do not eclipse their promise, and that is something Ryouma can reward, indulgent now in this private space, this dark and quiet room where they will not be disturbed.“All that you can give, my Lord.” It is so easy to bear him down, red rope knotted at wrist and shoulder, the canvas of his chest and the hard plane of his stomach flat and naked and so, so vulnerable. “And then everything you cannot.”
Relationships: Marx | Xander/Ryoma
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	The Conquest of the Willing

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW meme fill. The prompt was 'orgasm denial + bondage'.

“Lord Ryouma,” he says, and crisply so, Nohrian ice crackling in every vowel. Still, it is not as if Xander can act upon the threat his eyes promise, low and hot and dark by candlelight, what with how simply and strongly he is bound. “You are sorely mistaken if you believe me so easily defeated by mere rope.”

“Lord Xander.” Beneath his palm, that broad chest swells, cresting on the wave of a stuttered breath as Ryouma’s fingers trail over heavy muscle and the scars left scrawled by a war that sought to destroy them both. “I would argue it is you who is mistaken, if you believe that it is mere _defeat_ I seek to lay upon you.”

Xander swallows, slowly, with the decorum of a prince born to rule. Ryouma knows that the throne was not his by simple right, however, given the complexity of Nohrian inheritance law – and the frequency of murder amongst the once numerous pool of royal siblings. Ryouma also knows that Xander would give the crown that is his due to Kamui – now Corrin, after years as a child of Nohr – without batting a lash should their shared sibling only ask.

“What would you have of me?” The softness of the words do not eclipse their promise, and that is something Ryouma can reward, indulgent now in this private space, this dark and quiet room where they will not be disturbed.

“All that you can give, my Lord.” It is so easy to bear him down, red rope knotted at wrist and shoulder, the canvas of his chest and the hard plane of his stomach flat and naked and so, so vulnerable. “And then everything you cannot.”

Xander groans into the kiss, cord straining at the thickness of his wrists as he struggles to yield, and it is the first touch of teeth to the hollow of his throat that has him gasping, hot breath huffed between those pale lips that can be bitten so, so red. The floorboards creak below the futon, the heavy thump of an errant step taken as Xander shifts for purchase atop the slippery sheets - but with those strong arms bowed and bound, and Ryouma caught between the thickness of his thighs, it is easy enough to pin him down for all his strength is comparable and his height is greater.

“I was a fool to underestimate you,” sighs Xander, when the weight of Ryouma’s fingers curled tight in cord cuts him into stillness. “I find myself even more a fool to let you control me like this.” He shudders, once, and it is not the night air that calls it; the shiver of anticipation on moonstruck skin and the tense ripple of muscle as he arches purely delightful.

“The best control is given, not taken,” murmurs Ryouma, a lesson learned from the texts of the royal library as much as any art of war. “And all the more pleasurable for both parties involved.” And it is pleasure he would give, in return for control so willingly yielded, in this space where they are not princes and only men; pleasure enough to drown a man, if Xander would allow him.

“I would ask from where you quote such, but I fear to be enlightened,” says Xander, only a touch dryly, and the heavy hooding of his eyes and their lashes - so dark against the cornsilk of his hair, falling as it does in tangled curls around that kingly face - burns as his gaze tracks down the fall of Ryouma’s yukata as he casts it loose, landing hot on the skin bared beneath the cross of folds pulled open. “Still, your ropes can be no worse than the arts of the bedchamber Nohrian courtesans proclaim themselves the master of.”

“It is not the rope that should worry you,” laughs Ryouma, and takes the chance to catch the shell of Xander’s ear between his teeth, tugging just slightly; the groan that earns him is surprised and delighted in equal measure. “But rather the man that ties it – the rope is only a means to an end, my friend; not the weapon of your undoing.”

“Ah – then I am to be undone by your weapon, and I welcome it.” That fair face flushes so hot and deeply at his own suggestion that Ryouma _must_ kiss him, once, twice, three times and more uncounted, Xander straining upwards with hands bound as though to wrap his arms about Ryouma and hold him tight, as he so clearly wants but cannot achieve, his mouth a clinging heat that tastes only of desire.

“Oh, eventually,” agrees Ryouma, for _certainly_ he will plow this prince beneath him like good soil turned for harvest; leave him wrecked and gasping, that kingly mien shattered like Nohrian steel beneath the love that Ryouma would overwhelm him with – and Xander will welcome it no less, the squeeze of his knees and the hook of one heavy leg across the back of Ryouma’s thigh a clear and emphatic invitation to do just as he pleases. “But not yet. Later.”

“Later? Ah–! _Hn_. Do - do that _again_. Please,” and the last is said so earnestly that Ryouma cannot deny him, at least not this: the drag of his mouth down the arc of a bared and tender throat, the sting of his teeth upon skin that bruises so prettily, the heavy caress of hands over red cord knotted and twisted in gorgeous patterns as he trails lower still with each and every touch.

The heavy thighs of a man who rides a charger into war sling with gravid weight across Ryouma’s shoulder, and the jut of Xander’s hipbone is a blade against his cheek as his kisses move lower; that strong voice breaks with a cry as Ryouma takes what he desires with the stroke of lip and tongue, seeking less to tease than to conquer and succeeding wholly in both.

Xander is quick enough to bring to breaking, for all that he abounds in stamina. There is only so much a man can resist, and battle has worn them both thin of late, besides. The bitter taste is the warning Ryouma craves, salt heavy on his tongue when he pulls back with a groan of dissatisfaction.

Xander pants beneath him, breathless with crisis averted, and his face is dark with thunder and frustration. “ _You_ – you are less a bastard with a sword in your hand – _why_ –?”

“I warned you it was not the rope that would be your undoing,” says Ryouma gently, and the touch of his hands as they smooth down heavy, jumping muscle is meant to ease and soothe. “We have all night, my Lord – and indeed it will be not far from dawn when at last I allow you release.”

Xander’s eyes are wide and wet and terribly hot, his face tight and his throat rolling with a desperate swallow. “Please,” he says, just once, and so softly Ryouma cannot bear it. “ _Ryouma_ – oh Gods.” He wants so much he shakes with it, and the heart in Ryouma’s chest beats an aching drum as his lover trembles beneath his giving touch, arching up into the hands that hold his hips with tender control.

Ryouma smiles, and kindly so. “You may pray if you like. I am not a cruel man, you know this – I will give you what you need.” Gently, so gently, he kisses the corner of that gasping mouth, caught by the stroke of Xander’s lips into a kiss so deep with hunger it brings him to breathlessness. “Easy, now.”

“ _Yes_ ,” says Xander, and only that – and he will many times over before the morning comes.

**Author's Note:**

> The obvious solution to the war between Nohr and Hoshido is to marry off the two crown princes to each other. Heirs are not a problem; they've each got three siblings and Kamui/Corrin besides.


End file.
